


Kintsugi

by Plaant



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blackwatch, Blackwatch Era, Blackwatch Genji Shimada, Blackwatch Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Gen, Internal Conflict, Medical Experimentation, Medical Inaccuracies, Mercy's POV, My First AO3 Post, Not Beta Read, Not Romance, Other, Pre-Fall of Overwatch, actual swiss-german mercy, blizzard can pry this story from my cold dead hands, very very very slightly implied reyes/morrison
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2018-11-14 12:34:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11208177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plaant/pseuds/Plaant
Summary: After reviving the heir to the infamous Shimada clan, Angela Ziegler is tasked with recruiting Genji Shimada to Overwatch and leading him through recovery, while adapting to her new role as combat medic "Mercy".





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is *not* a romantic Genji/Mercy work (if anything, it's why I don't ship them romantically), though their relationship as doctor/patient, wary acquaintances, and eventually friends, is the main focus.
> 
> First time I've ever posted my work online so feedback is appreciated!

_Kintsugi:_ _The Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with golden lacquer. As a philosophy, it represents accepting breakage and repair as part of history._

 

Forty-one days after picking up the dying remains of a young Japanese gang member, Angela received the call that dictated the next three years of her life.

 

She had been nursing her daily cup of coffee - two parts coffee to one part cream and no sugar - when the call came in on her earpiece.

 

"He's conscious."

 

"He’s _what?_ " Angela said, jolting. Luckily she was alone in this more secluded break room; no one around to overhear the news.

 

"He's conscious - you need to get down here, fast."

 

"O-of course. I'll be down immediately."

 

She bolted upright, grabbed her notebook, spilled the remains of her coffee on the clean white table, momentarily scoffed at the mess she was leaving behind, and ran out the door.

 

Angela tried to focus on the rapid clicking of her heels as she rushed to the ICU. Her thoughts roused a storm that made her ears buzz. She couldn't get her hopes up too high, it might be a false alarm. Maybe it was a joke? The alternative - that it was the truth - had implications she couldn't currently process. She clutched her notebook tight to her chest.

 

By the time she scanned her hand to enter the ICU, her pulse was unprofessionally high, heart jumping in her chest with queasy uncertainty.

 

"Dr. Ziegler."

 

Angela was met with the eager voice of a fellow med-bay worker, one who was on rotation to check on the intensive care patients.

 

Few patients got their own room - most were lined up evenly in a larger room staffed by twenty-odd top nurses and doctors. This one, though, was a special case, and by Angela's request had received a personal space.

 

The room was compact, big enough for four people to stand comfortably and eight to stand with some difficulty. A dialysis machine, respirator, pulse and blood pressure monitor, and brain wave reader were stacked up on one side of the bed. A rack of various IVs - ranging from saline to glucose to hormonal cocktails, all carefully labeled and color-coded - hung on the other. Sterilized surgery tools and a box of latex-free gloves rested on a nearby cart, along with materials for suturing, bandaging, and disinfecting. There was a hastily added sink crammed into the far corner of the room and shelves of medication; some in bottles, some in hypos. Everything was lit with dimmed LED lights, and the white tiles gave the space the appearance of an autopsy room rather than an ICU. The only indication that a human inhabited the area was a small window (currently shut), a potted ficus in the corner, and three paintings of pleasing landscapes. By now it was quite familiar to Angela, as she frequented the room to take notes on the patient’s status and reassure herself that she wasn’t making things up.

 

Ana had given the okay on the single room, with the explanation that the new patient needed "special accommodations" and a "calmer working space". A "unique case". Or, in layman's terms, a human experiment that would scare the other patients senseless. Angela refused the word "experiment" herself; that phrase brought to mind unpleasant imagery of bodies cut open in the name of science and little consideration for the patient.

 

"Are you alright?" her co-worker asked.

 

Angela quickly regained her composure. "Yes, yes. Thank you for calling me. You said he is conscious?"

 

The nurse nodded, handing her a live-feed display of the patient's charts.

 

Pulse: low, but steady. Blood pressure: low, but steady. Breathing: aided and low, but steady. Brain waves: fully, incredibly, active.

 

"Mein Gott," Angela muttered, flitting her eyes to the machinery that was directly attached to the man, scanning over them once, twice, three times. There was a double-take, then a fourth once-over.

 

Screens that had been perilously low - or even completely blank - were now nearly normal. She flipped her notebook open to a new page and recorded every detail at lightning speed, in uncharacteristically sloppy cursive.

 

She approached the bed - if it could be called that. It was more of a cradle, with raised sides to prevent the patient from falling off.

 

_"The patient."_

 

He was half a man. Less. A head and the left half of a torso, swaddled in bandages and stuffed full of wires and tubes. The only skin that wasn't swathed in gauze were the area between his forehead and chin. The respirator rose and fell quickly with his half-chest. He was wreathed in the sickly yellow glow of a Caduceus field.

 

As pathetic as he looked, scrambling his left arm feebly, dark eyes wide and frightened, he was nothing short of a miracle. Just weeks ago, he had been living in a soaking tub while his heartbeat petered out and back in.

 

Angela put on her best bedside voice and politely asked a muscle-memory question.

 

“How are you feeling?”

 

If he could have looked at her incredulously, he would have.

 

 _Of course he can't talk,_ Angela scolded herself. She adjusted her method.

"Please nod if you understand me."

 

He nodded.

 

 _Unbelievable_. She jotted it down. “Are you experiencing any pain?"

 

It was _almost_ a rhetorical question. He was on a dangerously high dose of painkillers, under heavy regional anesthetics, and hooked up to a Caduceus system.

 

He jerked his head in a gesture that could have meant anything.

 

"Do you know your name?" Angela continued.

 

He nodded, reaching for his throat. Through the haze of trying to remember "standardized medical procedures" for a situation that could not be farther from standard, the motion clicked in her head; he wanted to speak.

 

"Do you think you can write?" she asked, holding her tablet steady for him.

 

He used his finger to scrawl down some chicken scratch. Another note in her journal. Angela wasn't sure what she had been expecting - English was his second language, he was writing with his non-dominant hand, and he'd been in a coma for six weeks.

 

She pulled up a touch keyboard for him.

 

Slowly, laboriously, he pecked something out -

 

_where am i_

 

"You are safe. You have been in a coma for several weeks. Can you remember your name?"

 

_shimada genji_

 

Angela took in her breath. His memory was, unbelievably, intact. Thinking back on the state in which she had found him, she was expecting severe amnesia at the very least and irreversible brain damage or complete vegetation at worst  - not _this._ The nib of her fountain pen scratched across the page as she nodded vigorously.

 

Genji looked from side to side, scanning the ceiling for a moment before reaching for the tablet again. The heartbeat monitor complained loudly at the spike in activity.

 

Angela recognized fear in his loosely focused eyes.

 

"Please, if you have any questions, I will answer them to the best of my abilities," she said. It wasn’t quite a lie, though it came closer than she preferred.

 

Genji processed the information slowly before asking a question Angela never thought she would have to answer.

 

_why cant i move_

 

His hand balled into a weak fist and came to rest on the bed. Poorly disguised impatience.

 

Angela stiffened, fingers curling around the spine of her journal. Usually this was the kind of conversation she would have turned over in her head much earlier, planned out, found the softest and most straightforward way to deliver the blow. This time, however, she had never managed to think it through. She had never been able to envision him awake or responsive. Conscious. Alive.

 

Angela cleared her throat politely. _How do I even begin?_ “You were severely injured.”

 

Poorly disguised impatience couldn’t hide from a heartbeat monitor. The spaces between the slow-steady peaks on the screen shrank noticeably. His breathing hiked up again. Angela was very aware that, if it weren’t for the tube down his throat, he would be rapid-firing questions that she wasn’t sure she could answer, even if she wanted to.

 

He settled on typing, hands shaking, two words: _show me_.

 

He turned to look her dead in the eyes with the expression that could best be described as someone threatening to kill while begging for their life.

 

"What do we do?" the aiding nurse whispered. Angela had forgotten there was a third party in the room, and was silently grateful.

 

"This is the most stable we've seen him; we might as well tell him now, but please be ready to sedate him. I don’t know how he will react," Angela whispered back, keeping her voice steady and stern.

She knew it was a poor decision from a psychological point of view. He was extremely emotionally unstable and disoriented.

 

But didn’t he have the right to know?

 

Angela had always prided herself on her bedside manners - kind, but honest. She had delivered more than one terminal diagnosis, and given the odds the way they really were. If a patient asked how much longer she expected them to live, Angela believed wholeheartedly in telling the truth, no matter how grim it may be. She was a nurse - a doctor - but she was also a scientist.

 

But this was different. Helping a patient come to peace with an imminent death was merciful. Declaring that a patient would live with no hope of going back to anything resembling normality - that was sickening.

 

Angela tried to show rather than tell. First through a photo, one taken two days earlier while he was still unconscious. It didn't register to him; he stared at it quizzically and then angrily, like a child being shown some sleight-of-hand trick.

 

She then presented a mirror. Just like the photo, he stared at it blankly for a moment, the way a cat looks at its reflection. To help him make the connection that the remains in the mirror were _him_ , Angela lifted his arm. Still nothing.

 

She guided his hand along bandages, then to the area of the wound itself. He pushed her hand away, and it suddenly clicked that he was looking at himself.

 

First it was mortification on his face, nearly palpable, like a grotesque theater mask. He touched along the well-treated wound. He searched for his right shoulder and found nothing. The searching became scrambling as he reached for his legs. Empty space. He prodded the bed like his missing body might be hidden somehow. He wasn’t looking in the mirror anymore, just staring straight ahead. Breathing turned to hyperventilating.

 

Mortification turned to rage. What was left of him seized up, his eyebrows knitting and his eyes shrinking to pointed slits.

 

His fingers curled around the mass of tubes feeding into his side, and to Angela’s dismay, he started to yank at them. She gasped and forced his hand away, and Genji snapped. He hit the mirror out of Angela's hand. He tried to shout something through the trach; it reached Angela as painful gurgling. She froze stiff. It took her five weeks to get that scream out of her ears the first time.

 

The nurse was fast. Genji went out like a light and fell limp.

 

"Thank you," Angela gasped, slumping back.

 

"Are you alright, Dr. Ziegler?" the nurse asked.

 

Angela massaged her temples fruitlessly. She was lucky the hit didn’t have the strength to hurt her, because it definitely had the intent. "Please keep him under for the time being. I need to contact the commander," she stammered, leaving the question unanswered, before recording his vitals a final time, adding a frightened shorthand.

 

Without another word, Angela walked out of the room, counting each click of her heels on the tile floor, attempting to ignore the pounding in her head.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not Mercy's POV this chapter, but we'll get back to her shortly.
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone reading and leaving kudos!

“Dr. Ziegler is asking a lot. A project like that costs money,” Jack grumbled, frowning down at the massive conference table. It could comfortably seat thirty - top UN officials, military leaders, and peace negotiators, usually.

 

Or it could fit three desperately overworked friends, all crowded at the far end so prying ears (not that there were any) couldn’t hear their arguments.

 

“Money that we have, Jack. She’s a brilliant doctor, and we’re probably the only group that can fund something like this,” Ana said, arms crossed impatiently across her chest. She hovered near Jack. Standing helped her focus and stay sane.

 

Jack looked up to meet her eyes. “And if it gets out that we’re funding this? That’s a PR nightmare.”

 

Ana tapped her temple “it’s all about phrasing it delicately… we’re saving a man’s life and bringing in a new wave of medical care.”

 

“It’s a human experiment, Amari, don’t play dumb.” Jack’s face kept stone-still and unhappy.

 

“Gabe,” Ana tried to bring their third member into the conversation without pointedly looking at him, denying him the extra attention. “Say something.”

 

Gabriel Reyes had been sitting silently, pivoting back and forth in a rolling chair, passive-aggressively waiting for his turn to speak.

 

Gabriel chuckled and sat forward in his chair, sarcastically scratching at his bearded chin. “Hm. You want my opinion?”

 

“Cut the shit,” Ana said.

 

He scrunched his weather-worn face. “I agree with Amari. I think the kid’s valuable. I don’t think I could care much less about medical research, but he’s a Shimada, right?”

 

Ana nodded tersely.

 

He swiveled to face Jack.  “If you recall, Jack, we’ve been trying to take them down for...how many years? If Dr. Ziegler’s telling the truth, that she can nurse him back to health, the kid’s a damn trump card. The Shimada clan doesn’t stand a chance. Bam. One less pain in our side.” Gabriel finished with a triumphant nod.

 

“And what if he refuses to help us?” Jack challenged.

 

“Like hell he’ll refuse. We saved his life; we’re gonna build him a new body. How can he say no?” Gabriel retorted sharply.

 

Ana clucked her tongue quizzically. “I agree with Jack on that. There’s no guarantee he’ll agree to help us, especially since we’re asking him to take down his own family.”

 

“Pick a side, Ana,” Gabriel said.

 

“I’ll pick a side when I find a good one.”

 

Jack shook his head indignantly and let out an audible “ _ tch _ ” 

 

“Regardless, I’m in favor. He’d make a valuable asset,” Gabriel declared, leaning back in his chair.

 

Ana rolled her eyes; making decisions with these two was an uphill battle.

 

“Okay, we’ve got one for, one against. You’re the tie-breaker, Amari,” Jack concluded.

 

“As usual,” Ana muttered. She pinched the bridge of her nose contemplatively, trying to analyze her choice from every possible direction and ignoring the two opinionated men not-so-subtly betting on her response.

 

From an ethical standpoint, the project was questionable best. They would be conducting unspecified research on a living person. Garnering proper consent from the patient would be hazy, if not downright impossible - the patient himself was quite possibly in no place to be making decisions, and neither party could be sure of any experiment’s repercussions.

 

From a tactical standpoint, the project made perfect sense. They’d be bringing down a criminal empire and gaining a connection directly into the Japanese underworld, if he agreed. If he didn’t, well...Ana had certainly learned to revere Gabe’s proficiency with blackmail. If the boy didn’t become a bargaining chip, manipulations of the situation surrounding his disappearance would be a very clear message to crime syndicates around the world.

 

From a medical standpoint, if the rebuilding of this man’s body turned out to be successful, battlefield aid could change forever. Amputees could be sent home alive and well or even be rebuilt and re-deployed. She was struck with guilt at the memory of her fifth mission - three of her comrades had to be left for dead after a catastrophic explosion, and two others succumbed to the wounds days later. She remembered the blood, shattered bones, worst of all the  _ look _ in Skylar’s eyes as Ana turned and ran; the look of knowing he had no chance, no matter how soon a medic could reach him. If they had had the technology Dr. Ziegler was now suggesting they develop...

 

“I’m in favor,” Ana said finally.

 

“What? Why?” Jack asked, hiding his bewilderment poorly.

 

“The ethics are questionable, and he may not help us willingly, but…” she turned and paced around the table. “The way I see it, this is an incredible medical and strategic opportunity. Dr. Ziegler was hesitant to join Overwatch in the first place, and denying her the resources to further her research could make her leave altogether. If she can bring the boy back from an injury  _ that  _ serious, it’ll mean a new era of battlefield aid. And then we have the added bonus of his position as the son of the leader of a major criminal organization.”

 

Gabriel smirked. Ana looked back at Jack. 

 

“I’m sorry, Jack, you’ve been outvoted,” she said, with very little hint of apology in her voice.

 

Jack’s eyebrows knitted and he inhaled with the intent of protesting, but Ana’s sharp eyes cut him off from a simple veto.

 

“What if we  _ did _ fund her?” Jack pulled another contention out of nowhere. “She’s a doctor, not an engineer. She can keep him healthy, sure, but who’s going to make the kid a new body?”

 

Unfortunately for Gabriel, this was a very good contention. Ana visibly cringed at the list of candidates. 

 

“Torbjorn?” Jack goaded.

 

“We want the boy to  _ live _ , not  _ implode _ ,” Ana said, taking the bait.

 

Gabriel leaned forward and interjected. “Say what you will about his personality, that dwarf is an incredible engineer.”

 

Ana clutched her chest and gasped over dramatically.“You’re defending  _ Jack’s _ decision now?”

 

“What? No, I’m - “

 

She cut him short, uninterested in pursuing the joke. “I won’t let Torbjorn do work on a human. End of story.”

 

“There you have it, then - “ Jack said, ready to accept his victory.

 

“Okay, then not Torbjorn,” Gabriel proposed. 

 

Jack narrowed his eyes. “If not Torbjorn, then who the hell do you suggest?”

 

“I don’t know, an  _ actual  _ cyberneticist?” Gabriel asked. “Listen, we’ve got excellent doctors and engineers, but you’re right that we don’t have any specialists in this kind of thing.  _ Yet _ . No better time for us to get some.”

 

“Cybernetics are still experimental and incredibly costly. It wouldn’t look good,” Ana said.

 

Gabriel raised his eyebrows. “Huh, that argument seems familiar, doesn’t it? In fact, didn’t we already refute it?”

 

Ana opened her mouth to say something but closed it again in defeat.

 

“Seems we can’t come to an agreement,” Jack said, breaking the silence. “I guess we’ll - “

 

Gabriel turned on his earpiece and spoke swiftly. “Doctor Ziegler, this is Reyes. Amari, Morrison, and I were wondering if you would like the help of a cybernetics expert in your patient’s future surgeries and recovery.”

Ana swore softly in Arabic; Jack swore loudly in English. Gabriel shushed them both.

 

_ “Oh, that would be wonderful,” _ the doctor said cheerfully. Gabriel made sure the response was audible to his friends.

 

“Good to hear.” He smiled.

 

_ “Are you sure that’s alright? That must be costly…” _

 

“Anything for our head of medical research. We’ve all agreed on it.”

 

Jack was visibly seething.

 

“ _ The field of cybernetics has always interested me. I’m thrilled that I get the opportunity to learn more. Thank you, sir.” _

 

The comm clicked off. Gabriel rose from his chair.

 

“You’re a real bastard, you know that, Gabriel?” Jack grumbled. Gabriel shrugged, smirking, and made his way to the door.

 

“If this goes south it’ll be on  _ your _ head,” Jack threatened.

 

Gabriel chuckled. “Come on, Jack, has it ever  _ not _ been?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my sister and friend for help editing and revising these chapters, and thank you for reading.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two scenes in one chapter?! A miracle!
> 
> In all seriousness though, thanks to everyone reading. This is kind of a weird niche fic, so having any readers is pretty incredible.

Angela silently recorded the numbers crossing the vitals display, and then moved on to adjusting the IVs. Some of them were recognizable to any doctor - saline solution and glucose. Some of them were cocktails of hormones and obscure bodily fluids; everything Genji’s missing organs would normally produce.

Genji stirred. His unfocused eyes blinked open.

“Oh, you’re awake,” Angela said. Her grip on the pen tightened in apprehension. He was still weak and disoriented, but she couldn’t shake the feeling he was a threat.

She took a deep breath, willing herself to relax. “I realize I never properly introduced myself before. My name is Angela Ziegler. I’ll be watching over you.”

He stared at her vacantly for awhile before nodding silently.

“Ah, yes, of course. Here.” Angela handed him a touchscreen phone. “This is for you. Message me if you are in need of assistance.”

Angela continued her notes, tenser now from being watched. She tried to break the uncomfortable tension. “How do you feel?”

Her phone buzzed.

where am i

Still impatient, she noted. “You’re safe,” she repeated. “I’ll give you further details as soon as I can, but for the moment just know that you are in no danger.”

im tired

Angela wrote the word down - “tired”. “Understandable. The Caduceus system works via a kind of stasis to speed up cell repair and halt cell decay. I’m also still working on getting your hormone balance correct, which may very well cause exhaustion. Are you experiencing any pain?”

no

“I’m happy to hear that.”

Several more minutes passed of Angela delicately rearranging tubes and refilling IV bags before she casually dropped a bombshell. “Your first surgeries will be next week. We’ll start by fixing your throat so you can speak again.”

Angela herself had only found out yesterday after a long conversation with the Commander and a panel of cyberneticists and specialized surgeons.

She glanced at him, not sure whether she was expecting another outburst or complete disinterest on his part.

Genji rubbed his neck and the tube protruding from it.

Angela scribbled down a final note and checked her watch. “I’m sorry, I have to go now. Text me if you need anything.”

She was two steps away from the door when her phone vibrated again.

im bored

“Bored?” Angela repeated the word aloud unintentionally as she swivelled back to look at him. Of course he’s bored, she thought. Anyone would be - cooped up in a hospital room and bedridden. Boredom was the enemy of hospital patients, but the thought of him needing entertainment hadn’t crossed her mind, somehow.

“Well...unfortunately, your options are limited,” she said. Anything that gave direct contact with the outside world was immediately out, in case he had his wits about him to compromise the organization. Besides that, who knew what restrictions Morrison might decide were necessary? “I’ll help you as best I can. Do you have any requests?”

He took a full minute to think before shaking his head.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

yes

“Nothing?”

no

Angela hesitated. It struck her as strange that he didn’t want anything. Most patients could at least come up with a favorite movie or song to comfort them.

“You really don’t want anything?”

He shook his head firmly and set his phone back down on the bedside table; the conversation was over.

“Alright, well...if you need anything, just call for me,” she repeated, then added: “Even if you just want to talk.”  
\---

“You’re not going to like this,” Morrison said gravely.

All three leaders of Overwatch stood in front of Dr. Ziegler, wearing expressions that ranged from denial to genuine fear.

“What is it?” Angela asked.

Ana shook her head slowly and muttered something under her breath. Reyes stared at the ceiling. Angela swept the three of them looking for a pair of eyes to connect with, and found none.

“About your patient, the Shimada…” he began, trying to hold a front of authority while nervously scratching his jaw. “How much have you told him?”

Angela stiffened. “Not too much, I hope. I haven’t divulged his location beyond the fact that he is safe.”

“Hm...good,” Morrison replied with an exaggerated nod. “He’s recovering well?”

“He is...alive. I wouldn’t quite say he’s doing well; the man was cut in half,” Angela said gently.

“Is he conscious enough to make decisions?”

The question gave her pause. Conscious enough to ask questions, but not restrained enough to think too hard about their implications. Not restrained enough to keep from hitting her. “Yes, I imagine so, but they may not be….fully thought out decisions. Why?”

Reyes grew impatient quickly and asked so Morrison wouldn’t have to: “Do you think he’d be willing to join Overwatch?”

Angela’s elegant face fell quickly into a frown. “I do not know.” She paused, then added, hesitantly, “Why do you ask?”

Reyes handed the metaphorical microphone back to Morrison; they exchanged a furious glance and a mouthed “this is your fault” before the conversation actually continued.

“We need to make sure that he will,” Morrison said.

“For what reason?” Angela asked slowly, not at all liking where this was going.

Morrison cleared his throat. “Before we invest hundreds of thousands into cybernetic enhancements, we need to know he will be useful to the organization.”

Angela’s skin prickled. “‘Useful’?”

“Or at least not a liability,” Morrison added hastily.

“With all due respect, Commander Morrison, he is a person, not a utility,” Angela said firmly.

“I am not arguing about his status of being human. I’m stating the facts. We won’t get support for this endeavor if we don’t have results to back it up.”

“What about the results of helping the injured recover from grievous wounds?” Angela kept a respectful tone, but there was a clear bite to her words.

“That is important, Doctor Ziegler, and we’re going to save lives with those results, but the kid’s heir to one of the most prevalent organized crime families in the world. We wouldn’t be able to just let him back out, and we can’t keep him here forever,” Morrison continued, each word punctuated carefully so even his voice sounded like it was walking on eggshells.

Angela internally added the implied “because he’d cost us a fortune” to the end of his statement. “The medical advances would be worth the cost, I assure you.”

Morrison rubbed his chin. “It isn’t just the costs, Doctor Ziegler. I know you tend to avoid military matters, but - “

“Don’t patronize her,” Ana interjected. “You’re beating around the bush like an idiot and she’s calling you out on it. Tell her what you mean.”

Reyes took over before Morrison could continue. “What Jack’s trying to say is that the kid’s either with us or against us. No in-between.”

“Think of it as paying for the procedure through service,” Morrison added.

Angela looked between the two of them, her lips pursed and eyes furious. “I don’t approve of this.”

“We know you don’t, Dr. Ziegler, but keep in mind that the result will be a new generation of medical technology,” Ana said.

The obvious counter crossed Angela’s mind. “What happens if he says no? If he refuses to join?”

Morrison sighed like he was pretending the question wouldn’t come.

“Then we cancel the project. Shut it down.”

“‘Shut it down’?” Angela repeated. “As in shut down his life support? Kill him?”

Morrison cringed at the word. “We wouldn’t be killing him, Dr. Ziegler.”

“That man would probably live around three minutes without constant care. Turning off his life support would leave no chance of survival. I’m in the business of healing, not killing.”

“Listen,” Reyes interrupted, “Doctor Ziegler’s morals and our efforts aside, there are four outcomes here.”

He held up four fingers, then lowered one.  
“One. We dump a shit ton of money into this project, and it goes nowhere. Either he dies or ends up useless, vegetative or something. From what I’ve gathered, that’s the most likely outcome. And in that case, it looks like we’ve dumped a shit ton of money into a medical experiment that killed someone. Bad PR. We get less funding, less chances for this in the future.”

 

Reyes lowered a finger.  
“Two. We dump a shit ton of money into this project, and we get a miracle. He lives. Then what? He’s the heir to a criminal empire! We can’t keep him here; I wouldn’t allow it, Jack wouldn’t allow it, the UN wouldn’t allow it - we’re not a prison. We can’t send him back out into the world, not even to a normal or high-security prison - he’d be a danger to our security. He could stab Overwatch in the back, either literally, or by leaking information. Bad PR. We get less funding, etcetera. And besides, what a waste! A genuine cyborg, doomed to live out his days cooped up in an Overwatch base or hidden somewhere.”

Angela had to admit that that reasoning was sound.

“Three.” Another finger down. “We dump a shit ton of money into this project, get a miracle, and he thrives - maybe we get him back into fighting shape. Then he fights with us. Makes the world a safer place. Maybe he takes down the rest of his clan. In that case, well, damn! We’ve performed a medical miracle, reformed an ex-convict, and made the Earth a better place to live. Everybody wins. Good PR. We get more funding. More chances to do this kind of thing.”

Morrison gave a nod of approval.

Reyes lowered his final finger, closing his hand into a fist.  
“Four. We do none of the above and spend mountains to keep him barely alive as a useless torso until something malfunctions or someone pulls the plug. Then nobody wins. You don’t get your medical miracle, Jack and I don’t get our tactical advantage and new team member.”

He stared Angela down confidently. “Take your pick.”

Angela knew keeping Genji alive without further development was useless and costly - not to mention cruel. Why her superiors had burning desire for a criminal as a member of the organization wasn’t clear to her, but what was clear was their unwillingness to falter on that point in particular. She didn’t want any hands other than hers involved in this rehabilitation, but, like it or not, she was part of a team now.

Angela cleared her throat. “Commander Morrison...How soon do you need an answer?”

“As soon as possible.”

“Two months.”

“Sooner than that. Within a month.”

Angela thought of the information she’d given her patient, the few words they’d exchanged. “I will have an answer for you in three weeks, once he is capable of speaking again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to my sister for holding me to my chapter-a-week schedule.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised and re-posted as of 7/9/17

Angela slept poorly that night. On top of strategizing recruitment for an emotionally damaged and possibly violent gangster, her dreams took a turn for the unpleasant. Sometimes they were as innocuous as a vague feeling of unease, and sometimes they were as dramatic as twisted memories of the first patient she lost, or of battle-mangled bodies.

 

Tonight it was the latter. 

Angela had worked up a resistance to nightmares over her years as a medic and they had become few and far between, but their return was an unwelcome surprise. 

 

At 3 A.M. Angela concluded that she wasn’t getting back to sleep and pulled out her crocheting kit - an anxiety-easing hobby she’d picked up as a teenager. She was happy to feel her heartbeat steady after ten minutes of hooking and looping the yarn, and let her mind wander to strategy.

 

Angela had three weeks to convince the heir to a criminal empire to join one of the few forces in the world capable of taking that empire down. Failure to convince him would mean his death.

 

The first and most obvious option was to be straightforward and honest with him, the way Reyes probably would. Blunt.

“Join us or we’ll put you down.”

 

That’s surely the way Reyes would do it - Reyes wasn’t the subtle or gentle type. Angela, on the other hand, considered that to be the worst possible method.

 

Angela saw two major problems with brutal honesty in this case. Firstly, threatening a patient was reprehensible for any doctor. Secondly,was that she wasn’t entirely sure threatening him would work; not in his current state. He was defensive and suffering - some part of him would probably want  to die. When faced with the choice of an uncertain recovery or a swift and painless death...well, it was a coin toss at best.

 

She needed to make him  _ want _ to stay alive. For that, she needed him to trust her. 

 

Angela had dealt with defensive patients before, and she generally did her best to comfort them while staying at arm’s length; if they didn’t feel comfortable talking to her, she wasn’t going to force them. Genji, on the other hand, was going to have to talk to her. Angela was going to have to befriend him.

 

Usually that wouldn’t be too difficult of a task. It could happen naturally over a period of months if she let it; Angela tried to prevent close friendships with new patients, especially those in critical care. As a professional, she couldn’t let herself get too attached to any one patient. 

 

But how to befriend the heir to a criminal empire in a matter of  _ weeks _ ? 

 

Step one would be to get him to open up.  _ Easier said than done _ , she thought, shaking her head slightly. Being kind and welcoming was her forte - forcing friendships was not. 

_ Find out what happened to him _ . That was the first step. Not only would it force him to open up, it could help his recovery process if she knew exactly what his wounds were from.

 

Angela’s mind began to wander on the topic of medical hypotheses. Lacerations. Clean cuts. A sword? No sword she’d ever seen could cut a human clean in half. Who on Earth would be using a sword in this day and age?

 

Angela set down her crocheting project - in her contemplation, she’d managed about nine inches of what would probably become a scarf - and reached for the tablet on her bedside table.

 

It gave her a feed of Genji’s vitals. As per usual, she recorded it in her journal, noting that he was awake at four A.M.

 

Weariness was creeping back into her. Yawning, she clicked off her light and lay back down to sleep.

\-----

 

“Good morning,” Angela said, entering the small and increasingly familiar room. She was surprised to find her patient awake as he greeted her with a brief nod.

 

Angela looked through the record of his vitals on her phone and compared them to her notes. “Your readings indicate that you’re having trouble sleeping.”

 

He hesitated, then nodded.

 

She noted it. “Do you have any idea why? Can you describe your insomnia?”

 

Angela knew the answer to a few of those questions but wanted confirmation. Spikes in heart rate point to distress, and the first step to recruiting someone was keeping them happy and healthy.

 

_ just cant sleep _

 

It was an irritatingly vague answer, so she tried to pry further while she began sorting and re-filling his IV bags, an activity that would often take upwards of thirty minutes. Realizing her hands would be occupied, she enabled text-to-speech on her phone. “Yes, but do you feel fatigued, or more restless? Do you slip in and out of sleep or lay completely awake? How would you classify your emotional state?”

  
  


The reply came through as a monotone robotic drawl. After working with and around omnics, the voice of her phone sounded crude and obnoxious.

 

_ I FEEL TIRED BUT CANT SLEEP. SOMETIMES I’LL SLEEP FOR A LITTLE BUT WAKE BACK UP. _

 

“So your sleep schedule is correct,” she thought aloud, refreshing the saline first and foremost. At least it didn’t seem like a hormone balance problem - if he felt fatigued, his melatonin was releasing properly. “When you wake up, is it a smooth transition, or more of a jolt?”

 

The response came after a long delay.

 

_ JOLT _

 

Angela paused, unsure of how to phrase her next sentence without sounding condescending or intrusive. She settled eventually. “It sounds like anxiety, or acute stress.”

 

She labeled the first IV bag with its time of refreshment - 7:08 AM. Several minutes passed in silence as Genji mulled over the information that Angela was almost certain he already knew.

 

He seemed stubborn - not the type to ask for help. Whether it was out of politeness, distrust, or anger, she wasn’t sure.

 

Once Angela was on the third IV bag, he continued.

_ IS THERE ANYTHING TO BE DONE. _

 

“Right now, very little, unfortunately,” Angela said. “Stress isn’t something that can be treated overnight.”

 

_ CAN I HAVE SLEEPING MEDICINE _

 

Angela shook her head. “No, I’m afraid sleeping medicine would likely make it worse.”

 

_ ANY MEDICINE? _

The emotionless voice of Angela’s phone couldn’t convey desperation, but for him to be asking so outright must mean he was in serious distress.

 

She looked at him briefly and found him in visible discomfort, nervous twitches becoming apparent in his remaining hand. The heart monitor’s beeping was redundant.

 

“I’m sorry, but in your current state, it would be unwise - downright dangerous - to try to interfere with your body chemistry any more than is absolutely necessary to keep you alive.”

 

_ CAN YOU TRY _

 

Angela was growing irritated; she had to refill and meticulously measure over a dozen specialized IV bags as it was. “You have to understand that you’ve lost the majority of your internal organs. Trying to roughly simulate those functions  For the moment, that is my major concern. I’m sorry.”

 

Minutes passed as Angela worked through three more IV bags, reaching the one labeled  _ insulin _ , before her phone spoke again.

 

_ IS THERE ANYTHING YOU CAN DO.  _ He still wasn’t looking at her, opting instead for the small window.

 

“The best way to treat anxiety is by talking about what is bothering you,” Angela said. To recruit him, she needed to know him. To know him, she needed to talk to him, she reminded herself. “I am here if you wish to talk to someone.”

 

Angela feared she might be overstepping her boundaries as a doctor, straying too far into the role of therapist. Not that she couldn’t be - she enjoyed the personal aspect of treating patients, getting to know their stories and befriending them. Psychology, however, was not her area of study.

 

Genji didn’t respond for a full fifteen minutes. In the meantime, Angela finished eight more IV checks. When he finally “spoke” again, it was a solid change of topic.

 

_ DO YOU HAVE ANY STREET FIGHTER GAMES. _

 

Angela gave a short laugh out of surprise. The question struck her as absurd after an exchange about severe anxiety.

 

“I don’t know. I’ll definitely see what I can do,” she said. “Is there a particular version you want?”

 

_ THE EARLY ONES _

 

“As in, from the 1990s and early 2000s? That might be difficult to find.” Angela herself had never been particularly invested in video games, especially vintage arcade games, but she knew Reyes had been.

 

Noticing the opportunity, she inquired further. “Do you like the Street Fighter games? I haven’t seen them around in about a decade.”

 

Genji hesitated, perhaps unsure of whether this was too personal for his doctor to know. Eventually he sent her a message.

_ YES THERE WAS AN ARCADE NEAR MY HOUSE THAT HAD THE MACHINES I SPENT A LOT OF TIME THERE AS A KID. _

 

Angela found herself smiling as she refilled the final IV. “Well, I doubt we can get you an arcade machine, but an emulator isn’t out of the question. That way we can set up a better control scheme.”

 

_ THANKS _

 

Genji set the phone down and stared at the ceiling and began tapping his fingers anxiously. 

 

Looking at him drained the smile from Angela’s face. He was  _ alive _ . He still looked pathetic, maybe even moreso now that he could think. Human remains hanging on by a thread and swaddled in bandages. For now.

 

Angela reminded herself that she would have to change the bandages soon and check for bedsores. She took several more compulsive notes in her journal, checked the IVs a final time, and exited the room. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a week late and my only excuse is that writers block hits hard.

 

The remainder of the week passed in what Angela would describe as an uncomfortable medical stalemate. Upon receiving his modified version of  _ StreetFighter,  _ Genji all but abandoned communicating with Angela. He played the game obsessively and constantly. On the one hand, she was glad he was no longer suffering through hours of boredom. On the other, his anxiety was very plainly not improving. He averaged on two or three hours of sleep per day - compared to his previous fourteen to eighteen - and it showed. Dark bags developed under his eyes and his skin became sallow.

 

Every attempt Angela made at conversation was ended with a swift nod or shake of the head or a blunt and vague “ _ im fine” _ . Angela did her best to talk at him while performing maintenance and various blood tests, but she grew increasingly concerned that “her best” was not enough. 

 

_ \--------------------- _

 

“How are you feeling?” Angela asked gently. 

 

Genji’s position had been shifted to accommodate his new equipment. The respirator was gone, replaced by a more extensive face mask that wrapped around to the back of his neck and branched into several thick wires that, for the moment, remained connected to an external power source. In place of a trach tube was a sturdy artificial windpipe, visible amongst scarred skin. Instead of being half propped up in a cradle-like contraption, he was suspended in such a way that he was fully supported, but no pressure was being put on any of his many tubes and cords. The change had come in part on the advice of the surgeon who performed the operation, and in part out of Angela’s growing concern for her patient developing bedsores.

 

The hanging half-torso had scared enough nurses shitless that Morrison had declared Genji’s room to be on the highest level of security clearance, accessible only to seven people within the organization: Angela, one ICU doctor, the surgeon who had performed the operation, a top-ranking engineer, Amari, Reyes, and Morrison himself.

 

The surgery had gone as well as one could hope. Putting him under had been Angela’s main concern, but there had been no complications whatsoever. If anything, it gave him his best sleep in weeks.

 

This was the first time Angela had tried speaking to him since the surgery; the first time she would hear his actual voice.

 

He looked at her through tired eyes.

“It hurts to speak.”

 

His voice came through tinny, the way an omnic’s would, but it was a recognizably human voice, currently saddled with pain and breaking slightly. His accent was noticeable but not overwhelming; Angela wondered for a moment if she should have used simpler language with him. She wrote down his response in her increasingly cluttered journal.

 

“I’m sorry about the pain, but that is to be expected from the procedure. Talking more should help your body adapt and make the discomfort pass quicker,” Angela said, repeating what the surgeon had told her.

 

Genji nodded.

 

“Other than your throat, how are you feeling? How is your breathing?”

 

He inhaled deeply, as though testing his lungs for the first time. “Breathing is different,” he paused. “Easier than before the surgery.”

 

“I’m glad to hear that.” Angela jotted it down and then closed her journal, preparing to ask a more delicate question. “How is your mood?”

 

Genji didn’t respond at first, turning his head slightly so he wasn’t looking directly at her. He searched the far wall for words. “Please leave me alone. I do not want to talk right now.”

 

Angela held back her frustration. As if she  _ wanted _ to be trapped in here with an unwilling patient. “I take it you aren’t doing well, then?” she asked.

 

He knit his eyebrows. “No, I’m fine,” he said, clearly aware that she knew he was lying. “I am sure you have other matters to attend to. Please, leave me alone.”

 

“Mr. Shimada, you’re going to have to talk to me eventually,” Angela said. 

 

“‘Have to’?” he repeated the words spitefully. “I don’t  _ have  _ to do anything other than hang here and breathe.”

 

“Excuse me?” Angela said the words without realizing it. She quickly corrected her tone and tried to make herself clear. “If you want to recover, I need your cooperation.”

 

“I am cooperating.” His voice was strained from effort.

 

He  _ was  _ cooperating; he was putting up with his situation very well from his point of view, Angela realized. The only area in which he was not cooperating was in Angela’s attempt to...what, befriend him? Convince him to stop being so elusive? “Will you continue to cooperate?” Angela asked.

 

“What is that supposed to mean?”

 

_ With joining our group _ . “With your recovery. The process is going to be difficult physically and emotionally. I want to know if you plan on making that easier or harder on both of us.” 

 

Genji looked genuinely surprised at her assertiveness. “I hope for my recovery to be as easy as possible.”

 

“Good. Well, it would make it easier if you were willing to talk openly with me.” Angela felt like she might finally be getting somewhere.

 

He hesitated, searching for a reason not to comply. “How do I talk openly with someone I know nothing about?”

 

Angela contained her exasperation. “If it makes you feel more comfortable, you can ask me questions to get to know me better.” She pulled up a chair and sat down, her legs crossed at the knee and posture impeccable.

 

Genji stared at her, apparently at a loss for what to ask. Perhaps for the best; Angela wasn’t sure how many of his questions she would be allowed - or  _ able _ \- to answer.

 

“Who are you?” he asked eventually.

 

That was easy enough. “My name is Angela Ziegler,” she repeated.

 

“Yes, that’s your name, but what do you do? Who do you work for?”

 

“Well, I’m a medical doctor.” The second question was more difficult to navigate, but she found an answer that was both true and appropriately vague: “I work for anyone that needs me.”

 

Genji’s dark eyes bore holes into Angela, trying to read her. She had made it clear to him that she wouldn’t be telling him his whereabouts for some time; that wouldn’t stop him from trying to coerce the information out of her.

 

“Where are you from? I can’t place your accent.”

 

Listening to his tone shift between caustic and polite was somewhat infuriating. He was used to getting what he wanted - be it through manipulation or status alone. 

 

“I’m Swiss.” Angela answered honestly; no reason not to. 

 

“Ah. I have never been to Switzerland.”

 

“It’s very nice,” she said. “You’re from Japan, yes? Which prefecture, if you don’t mind me asking?”

 

“My family tends to...move around, but I grew up mostly in the Yamanashi prefecture.” Genji paused. “Where you found me.”

 

His eyes narrowed, the moment of open communication passing. “What were you doing in Hanamura?”

 

Angela cleared her throat politely. “Well...as I said, I go where I’m needed.” She tried to strengthen her story, “I was in-country for a medical conference and wanted to sightsee.”

 

Of course, the reality was that Reyes had sent her to watch over their  _ other _ convict recruit while he investigated and mapped out the area. Angela went on the condition that she would not be involved in any combat and was there  _ only _ as a safety net. Admittedly, those conditions were met.

 

He clearly didn’t buy the excuse, but gave a quiet “Hm,” and said nothing else.

 

Angela laced her fingers on her lap. “Do you have any other questions for me?”

 

Genji shook his head only slightly, for fear of yanking any of the many cords attached to him.

 

“I want to sleep,” he said, pain noticeable behind its metallic ring.

 

Angela sighed softly; the conversation was probably legitimately exhausting for him. She rose from her seat and pushed the chair aside once again.

 

“I suppose I’ll be taking my leave then.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so sorry for how late this is. hopefully the next chapter will be up in a more timely manner - i am not giving up on this fic

As awkward and stilted as their first fully verbal conversation had been, Angela felt as though it did open their path of communication. Her daily routines of checking on Genji became less silent. His questions and answers were still reserved and largely superficial, but she was happy to have the thirty minutes of void filled either way. 

 

Angela would relay the weather to him - it was snowy these days, she told him. Once or twice he talked about the weather where he grew up, but Angela was wary of prying for fear he would clam up. 

 

Her journal was filling quickly, the pages alternating between objective statements of health and something you might see on the cork board of a detective - vague statements Angela linked together in an attempt to learn all she could about her patient. He teetered between well-mannered and impulsive; she figured it was from a life of privilege clashing with a strict Japanese upbringing. 

 

She had just over a week left. Genji was frustratingly hard to read, but he was compliant enough that Angela could only guess things were going well.

 

\----

 

Changing Genji’s many bandages promised to be an unpleasant experience for everyone involved, but it absolutely had to be done. Medical advances had improved wound dressings - replacing bandages was, thankfully, a much less frequent ordeal than it had been in years past. Twice a month instead of twice a day.

 

Angela carried a fair-sized basin into Genji’s room and began filling it with comfortably warm water.

 

“I need to change your bandages and wash you,” Angela told him, draping a washcloth on the edge of the pail.

 

“Is there anything I should do?”

“All I need is for you to relax,” Angela said, approaching his contraption.

 

Wires and tubes trailed out of his torso and from the nape of his neck where the cybernetic modifications connected with his spinal cord. The mask wrapping around his forehead and lower jaw was water resistant by design, but she needed to take special care around it nonetheless. 

 

Carefully, Angela put his atrophying arm around her shoulder and lifted him from his sling.

 

His weight startled her enough that she faltered slightly, letting him slip with a nearly inaudible “ _ Gopf!” _ on her part. She regained her grip fast, cradling him strangely.

 

It wasn’t like lifting a human at all. It was like lifting a lame bulldog. All heavy and helpless. He squirmed uncomfortably in her arms as she stepped carefully around the many machines hooked up to him. She might as well have been relocating a computer for all the wires at risk of being pulled, stepped on, bent, or otherwise damaged.

 

Angela set him into the shallow water gently before slipping on a pair of latex gloves. “I’ve had to turn the Caduceus system off for now - it doesn’t interact well with water. You are probably going to experience some discomfort,” she said.

 

Genji made a small sound of pain as she repositioned the rope of tubes coming out of where the right half of his chest should have been, keeping as much of it from touching the water as possible.

 

As soon as he was positioned at rest - half propped up in two inches of warm water, weakly gripping the side of the basin , mass of cables snaking outside the water - Angela disturbed his bandages for the first time since applying them.

 

She peeled gauze away from his arm to reveal scarred, pale flesh. Her frantic stitches were healing well enough, thankfully, but weeks without movement left his muscles visibly emaciated. 

 

Genji winced visibly as she carefully repositioned his arm. 

 

“Does that hurt?” Angela asked rhetorically. 

 

He nodded.

 

She manipulated the limb further, feeling the musculoskeletal workings within, stopping after a vocal hiss on his part. 

 

“We need to get your strength back up,” she said, continuing to remove bandaging. 

 

The recently repaired area of his neck and throat were mending excellently, though there were still visible marks from where his trachea had been slashed. Angela noted how thin he was - not starving, but very clearly not fed enough. She’d asked after his hunger before, and his answer had been a simple “I haven’t been hungry.” Angela wondered if this was due to his nutrients being sufficient, or his lack of stomach.

 

His breathing and pulse were steady, both assisted but not controlled by external forces. She could feel what remained of his lung expanding and contracting appropriately, if not a little sharply.

 

“How is your pain?” Angela asked, unwinding 

 

“Not good,” Genji admitted, metallic voice strained. “It hurts.”

 

“Please bear with me for now - we can get you back on the Caduceus system as soon as I’m done.”

 

Genji nodded silently, eyes squeezed shut.

 

Angela peeled away the final layers of dressing. Genji grunted.

 

The slash went from the edge of his right collarbone diagonally across his chest. The wound had clipped his heart, completely destroyed his right lung, and damaged the stomach beyond repair. Everything below that was simply gone.

 

Angela was happy to see the wound was clean, with no trace of infection or rot. Tubes, wires, and cables spilled out where Angela had forced them in initially - hooked directly into his arteries. 

 

Removing the bandages upset the sutures and carefully clamped flesh; small drops of blood leaked from the wound.

 

Genji was silent in the way of someone biting their tongue to keep from screaming.

 

“The wound is mending about as well as I could hope,” Angela said in an attempt at reassuring him. “The bleeding is to be expected.”

 

He nodded, fingers curling around the rim of the basin.

 

Angela rinsed the area as gingerly as possible, but Genji fidgeted and swore at the every contact.

 

“The cut is surprisingly...neat,” she commented, trying to distract him. “What made it?”

He writhed as water flushed out the wound. “Does it really matter?” His voice was breaking strangely through his apparatus, interrupted by static.

 

“Well, yes. I can treat you better if I know exactly what I’m working with.” Angela scooped more of the tepid water onto him.

 

Moments passed with only the sloshing of water and quiet exclamations before Genji spoke.

 

“Sword. I was cut with a sword.”

 

“A  _ sword _ ?” Angela repeated in surprise - her guess had been correct.

 

“Yes - a sword.”

 

This answer brought up a host of new questions.

 

“Sorry, but, when you say sword, what do you mean, exactly?”

 

“A sword, like a katana. Samurai sword.” There was a note of impatience in his tone. 

 

“Hm.”

 

Angela grabbed the washcloth from the side of the basic and began washing him more thoroughly, scrubbing intact areas to remove layers of dead skin. He hissed in protest. She persisted, moving to what remained of his back. 

 

“May I ask who was wielding the sword?” she said, examining the edge of his torso carefully. A sword that could cleave through the ribcage like it was the soft flesh of a fish.  _ Ridiculous _ .

 

Genji didn't answer.

 

“You’re doing well,” Angela encouraged him. “Almost done.”

 

Angela worked into a rhythm with her washing. The water was tinted pink from trickles of blood. She was glad her hands were gloved - she’d had enough of that blood on her hands.

 

"When you found me," Genji asked suddenly. Angela started, snapping out of a short trance. "did you find a sword?"

 

"A sword?" she asked, casting her mind back a month. Truth be told, the night in question was a bit of a blur to her, minus a few painfully distinct images.

 

"I don't recall," she said eventually. "There were others at the scene, though. Would you like me to ask if anyone else else remembers seeing a sword. What did it look like?"

 

Genji closed his eyes.

"Like katanas," he said. "Two swords, one shorter than the other. They would probably look like antiques to you."

 

There was a bite to the last word, some note of condescension. Angela pursed her lips in quiet resentment.

 

"I'll see what I can find out," she said. "...Why do you want to know?"

 

Genji tilted his head, allowing her to wash his neck. "They belong to me," he said, hesitantly.

 

“Were they the same swords that caused your injury?”

 

“No,” he said flatly. The force of the words told Angela it was time to stop asking questions while she patted him dry.

 

"I'm going to reapply your bandages now. This is likely going to be painful for you.”

 

Angela unrolled a section of bandages and pressed gauze to the stump of his shoulder before he could reply.

 

Genji swallowed a shriek, seizing up. Angela fastened the gauze in place and continued along the wound. With live nerves and no Caduceus field to numb the pain, sudden direct contact with the wounds would be agonizing. 

 

Genji muttered swear words she didn’t understand - though he seemed especially fond of  “ _ kuso”  _ \- eyes shut tight.

 

“Alright, it’s done,” she said after a steady minute of work. His dressings were much lighter now; since the cuts on his arm and left pectoral had sealed, the only place he needed bandaging was his side. Thick gauze was stuffed among the tubes and held in place by what probably added up to meters of medical tape.

 

Genji opened his eyes slowly, adapting to the pain. He tilted his head forward, venturing a look at his newly uncovered body (or, what remained of it).

 

Angela expected the sharp intake of breath as he saw his own skin instead of a coat of bandage, more recognizable as himself. What she did not expect was the tears.

 

They pearled up in the corners of his eyes, and his face scrunched up as though he were trying to suck them back in. His breathing hitched and the heart monitor made itself known again.

 

He wept softly - whether it was self control or physical inability that kept him from wracking sobs, Angela didn’t know - tears dripping down his cheeks and pooling on the ridge of his mask.

 

She slipped the gloves from her hands swiftly and tossed them in the bin.

 

“What’s wrong?” Angela asked on instinct, unintentionally reaching forward to steady him.

 

He blubbered inaudibly for a few seconds motioning to where his stomach would have been.

 

"What is it?”

 

Genji's words became comprehensible. "I'm...never going to eat again, am I?"

 

"Eat?" Angela repeated. Her eyebrows knit. Out of everything, his ability to eat seemed somewhat insignificant, but she recognized something beyond exhaustion in him. Exhaustion could do a lot of things - warping one’s perception of relative importance

 

She put her hand to his shoulder; he was trembling. 

 

"No, you probably won't be able to eat again,” she answered honestly.

 

His crying continued as she hoisted him. Angela barely knew him. But it made her stomach twist.

 

Worse, he was clutching her, hanging on her sleeve like a toddler.

 

"Mr. Shimada," she said quietly, trying to get his attention.

 

He was bordering on irate as she strapped him back into his harness.

He rejected her comforting touches, slapping her away.

 

Angela looked from his swollen pink face to her watch - Swiss, of course - and back to Genji. She had other patients. Not just that, she had briefings to attend, reports to read, directors to speak with.

 

But she couldn't just leave.

 

Angela took a deep breath and messaged Commander Morrison - ‘Apologies, I may be a bit longer than I anticipated’ -  and tended to her patient.

 

"Mr. Shimada," she repeated. His vitals were drifting towards concerning. Anxiety attacks were strain enough on a healthy human - crying was a stress on the lungs and diaphragm, left the body dehydrated, weakened the immune system, and could even lead to vomiting. The stress on respiratory system would be immensely painful, the dehydration and weakened immune system increased chance of infection; Angela had no idea what effect vomiting would have on a body with no stomach.

 

She had to get him out of this. Now.

 

“ _ Genji _ ,” Angela said sternly, venturing to his given name. The faux-pas had the desired result: Genji looked up at her.

 

“Mr. Shimada, I need you to try to calm down,” she continued, switching back to formalities. “I understand that you are upset, but you may be endangering yourself.”

 

He nodded in understanding. The tears did not subside. From behind his mask she heard a muffled,  _ “It hurts.” _

 

Angela switched the Caduceus field back on and saw relief flood his eyes immediately as warm light surrounded him; she figured now was not a good time to mention that he would need to be weaned off the machine in coming weeks.

 

“I need you to look at me. Try to focus on me. The pain should be fading,” Angela said. “Slow your breathing. Deep breaths.”

 

Quiet repetitions of “in, out. in, out,” continued until Genji’s breathing and heart rate were steady. Tears still streaked his face - they would take time to stop - but his eyes had cleared up.

 

Angela produced a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped his eyes dry in the quiet.

 

“Are you feeling better?” she asked gently.

 

His “yes” was nearly inaudible.

 

Angela pulled away from him. Genji was in a stable condition now - she should go to meet with Commander Morrison. But she found herself lingering.

 

“Are you alright?” 

 

No response.

 

“Mr. Shimada, I understand that it is difficult to talk about what is bothering you, and I understand that you may not fully trust me,” Angela began sternly, “but your mental state is having a very real effect on your physical health.”

 

Genji stared at the floor darkly.

“You aren’t going to recover if we don’t address every aspect of your well-being.” Angela was lecturing and trying her hardest to keep from scolding.

 

“I apologize for my outburst, Doctor Ziegler,” Genji muttered, not looking up from the ground. 

 

“You don’t have to be sorry, but know that I -  _ we _ \- cannot have you breaking down like that. It is a serious strain on you.”

 

“What do you suggest I  _ do _ about it?” Genji asked. His exasperation was poorly masked behind a careful choice of words.

 

“I suggest you  _ talk _ to me, Mr. Shimada.” The words came out sharper than they sounded in her head, and she corrected herself quickly. “I am a doctor - I am here to care for your well-being. Not to hurt or belittle you.”

 

He eyed her.

 

She had a week left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to everyone for reading!
> 
> you can follow my tumblr at plaant.tumblr.com


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> happy BlizzCon everyone! wow, so, Moira is great and I love her, but she doesn't really change my plans for this fic. Sorry again that updates have been so sporadic. Expect the next chapter sometime this month, hopefully, since NaNoWriMo is in full effect!

Three visits a day became four in Angela’s final push to befriend Genji. The gaping hole in their sleep schedules overlapped, and Angela was happy to get out of her quarters for those empty hours of the night. 

 

Even in her insomniatic stupors Angela managed to speak with him. The interactions were fleeting and remained superficial, but there was a silent agreement that shallow conversation was the better alternative to Angela witnessing his sporadic breakdowns; bouts of pale skin and shallow breathing and heart monitor staccato.

 

So she would sit, crocheting scarves and gloves and caps, following any thread of communication he would allow her to, for two or three hours a night.

 

Angela wrote everything down, either taking notes as they went or in one outpouring at the end of the night. She learned precious little from him, as expected. The few details that stuck out were underlined and circled in her journal: it was not “just a sword” that wounded him; he had a brother; there were difficulties in his family. These details were followed by a quick change of subject.

 

There was one topic, though, that they could both comfortably return to: language. Angela was quite the polyglot herself, being fluent in five languages, and eager to learn another. Genji seemed happy to speak his native tongue again. The lessons were informal, simple, and largely out of order, starting with simple greetings and words and diverging to medical terms and body parts. In turn, Angela offered her own Swiss-German. Genji would listen, though Angela doubted that he had any genuine interest.

 

It wasn't until the night before the day of the decision that Angela mentioned anything was changing. Her words were careful, tasteful, and most importantly, vague. Some people will be visiting tomorrow. Some of your questions will be answered; some will not. They're going to ask you some questions.

 

Genji listened with the expression of someone who knew exactly what she was avoiding saying. No response, no further questions. Just a nod.

 

\----

 

"Well, is he ready?" Commander Morrison asked, the four of them already standing in front of Genji's room. It was early morning; Angela’s heart beat in her throat.

 

"Yes," she lied. There was nothing ready about him, but every passing day made rehabilitation less likely. 

 

Captain Amari had her arms crossed over her chest, glancing at her two sidekicks on occasion - a mother watching her children. Commander Morrison had his jaw set, eyes narrowed, something skeptical forced onto his face. Reyes was nonchalant as ever, beanie loose and - as Morrison had put it - "completely unprofessional".

 

"What are we waiting for?" Amari asked impatiently. Angela silently appreciated her bluntness. The waiting was nothing short of nauseating.

 

Angela scanned her hand to open the door, holding tight to her journal of notes like the information she had gathered would change someone's mind.

 

Genji raised his head, shallow sleep broken by the mechanical whirr of an opening door. 

 

Three decorated, high-ranking soldiers filed into the room behind Angela before the door slid shut, and Genji's heart rate skyrocketed.

 

There was some amount of genuine surprise from her superiors that they very quickly covered up. Angela had grown somewhat accustomed to Genji's state by now and had to remind herself how completely unbelievable it was; human remains living and breathing.

 

Angela opened her mouth to introduce her superiors, but Morrison stepped in front of her.

 

"Genji Shimada, I presume?" he asked, voice formal and booming.

 

Genji nodded deeply, trying to bow in reflex to this new authority.

 

"How are you enjoying your stay?" Morrison asked.

 

Genji spoke. "...Well enough."

 

_ Surprise _ no longer covered it; Angela’s superiors were  _ flabbergasted _ . Morrison's eyebrows raised almost comically; Amari stifled an exclamation; even Reyes dropped the aloof act for a few moments. The fact that the man was breathing was one thing; that he could speak coherently was entirely another. Angela stood poised, her chest out and chin up.

 

Genji took the moment of disbelief to focus more closely on the new visitors. Angela saw his eyes go cold. 

 

Genji’s words came out slowly, pointedly, not quite a threat but certainly not benign: "I know who you are." 

 

The room went dead silent, spare the incessantly audible beat of Genji's heart. Angela herself was taken aback - this was not the dejected, defensive voice with which she was now familiar; this was draconic.

 

Morrison closed his mouth.

 

Genji's eyes raked over in Angela’s direction. A nonverbal message passed between them.

 

"You know who we are?" Morrison asked, faltering.

 

"Yes. How could I not? You've been after my family for years."

 

Morrison blinked as though this had never occurred to him.

 

"Well....that saves us an explanation," Reyes piped up, breaking the tension. He clapped his hand on Morrison's shoulder. "Look on the bright side, Jack, now you don't have to give that spiel you prepared."

 

"I - " Morrison began.

 

Genji cut them off. "So what does Overwatch want with a crippled Shimada? Are you going to torture me?" His eyes narrowed. "If you're planning on using me as a bargaining chip, you're out of luck. They don't want me back."

 

Morrison was dumbstruck for several moments. He closed his eyes, gathering himself.

 

"No, Shimada, we're not here to torture you." He hesitated for a full five seconds, glancing around the room, to his colleagues, to Angela, before finally stating the proposition: "We're offering you an opportunity to join us."

 

_ "What?" _ Genji said.

 

Angela held her breath. He looked more confused than angry at this point. A bout of lightheadedness washed over her as it finally dawned on her what his next few words meant for her life, and perhaps more concerningly, the future of medicine.

 

Morrison stood straight. "We're offering you a position as a member of Overwatch," he repeated. "In exchange for cooperating, we'll rebuild your body."

 

Genji let out a concerning laugh, somewhere between a cough and a bark. "Rebuild? Look at me."

 

The implication hit Angela like a blow to the chest. So he didn't believe her assertions that he would live.

 

"Yes, it's a miracle you're still alive. Dr. Ziegler gave us our word that further surgery will be successful."

 

A blatant lie that nobody in the room bought.

 

Genji croaked out another short chuckle. "What if I say no?"

 

Morrison looked between Amari and Reyes. Amari gave a nod of confirmation - or more likely, of permission.

 

“Then we’ll have no choice but to terminate your recovery efforts.”

 

Angela’s status was dwarfed next to her superiors, leaving words stuck in her mouth. Morrison told her not to interfere - “let the kid speak for himself”.

 

Genji made no move towards responding.

 

“Is it a yes or a no, Shimada?” Reyes asked impatiently.

 

“Let the boy think,” Amari interjected. “I say we give him three days to think on it.”

 

Morrison turned to her. “Ana, we talked about this. It’s now or never for him. We’ve given him time.”

 

“I don’t see the harm in giving him a few more days to think. What are you so impatient for?”

 

"Ana, we - "

 

"You don't have to wait," Genji said, startling Morrison into a dumbstruck silence.

 

Genji made direct, piercing eye contact with Angela. She tensed. For once, he was readable:  _ This is not for you. _

 

His response was direct. "I accept your offer."

 

Morrison froze. His voice dropped two octaves, hitting gravel. "You'll do it?"

 

"Yes." The terse statement was followed by a bitter, "What choice do I have?"

 

The tension was palpable, despite the wanted outcome. Morrison's face screwed up tight, but his didn’t speak.

 

Reyes was the one to speak up. "Well, glad it was that easy."

 

Morrison cleared his throat. "Yes...I guess it is."

 

Amari shook her head slightly, almost unnoticeable. "They're such idiots," she whispered to Angela. "Spent more time arguing about how to convince him than what to do if they did."

 

Angela nodded, knowing full well her superior's inability to prepare for the unexpected. Upon Angela agreeing to join the organization, Morrison had spent ten minutes telling her to reevaluate her decision.

 

But the fight was not over. Rather than pleased, her commander looked furious, like some great plan of his had been thwarted. Morrison leaned forward, jabbing a finger toward Genji. “You’re going to be kept under surveillance until we’re absolutely sure that you’re on our side, got it? You’re lucky my colleagues are soft.” He pointed to Angela. “You’re lucky your doctor is so merciful.”

 

Angela couldn’t glean whether this was a compliment or not.

 

“If it were up to me, Shimada, you would’ve been dead weeks ago.” Morrison harbored a glare that would make most men weep.

 

“Jack, he understands his situation. There’s no reason to scare him,” Amari said steadily.

 

Genji glowered. “No, let the coward talk. I want to hear what he has to say.”

 

“You think you’re in any position to challenge me, kid? Look at you.” Morrison raised his voice.

 

Genji seethed; his heartrate was ticking upwards. “Look at me? Look at  _ you _ .” Genji nodded in the direction of Amari and Reyes. “Your own subordinates mock you.”

 

“We’re not his subordinates,” Reyes cut in. 

 

“Even better,” Genji said, turning his attention back to Morrison. “Your own  _ friends _ mock you.”

 

Morrison set his jaw. “Listen, punk, we can still shut you down any time we want.”

 

“Then do it,” Genji spat. Angela barely registered the words; her eyes were glued to the vitals display.

 

“Jack, cut it out.” It was Amari again. “You’ve made your point.”

 

“Like hell I’ve made my point,” Morrison shouted. “I haven’t made my point until this spoiled brat treats me with some  _ respect _ .”

 

“I’ll respect you when you’ve earned it, lapdog,” Genji said. 

 

Angela looked at Amari helplessly; her senior shook her head slowly as if to say  _ don’t bother _ .

 

“ _ Lapdog _ ? Look who’s calling who a  _ lapdog _ ,” Morrison growled, stepping close enough that Angela was sure he would feel Genji’s now ragged breathing and fluttering heartbeat. Genji was stressed enough now that the machines were struggling to keep up. Surely Morrison knew that? That he was pushing it?

 

But Morrison pushed forward.

 

“Commander Morrison, please leave him alone,”  Angela broke in. Heads swivelled in her direction - it was the first time she had spoken. 

 

Amari mouthed a silent “ _ don’t _ ”. Angela considered, glancing to her patient: his eyelids were fluttering from exhaustion.

 

“What did you say?” Morrison’s voice was puzzled.

 

Angela stared him down. “He’s...in a very delicate state and cannot handle much stress. As his physician, I request that you step away from him or leave the room entirely.”

 

Morrison stared back blankly, sharp jaw set. “Alright, Doctor Ziegler,” her commander said. “But I still want you to keep watch over him.”

 

“Of course,” Angela said.

 

Morrison shot a final glare at Genji; it was returned weakly.

 

Angela’s superiors exited the room after some hushed discussions. Amari nodded to Angela as she stepped through the doorway.

 

As soon as the door clicked shut, Angela collapsed onto a nearby chair, head in hands. “ _ Meine Gopf, _ ” she sighed, running her hands through her hair, mussing the blond up-do.

 

She’d done it. She’d convinced her superiors to let her pursue the endeavor. More impressively, she’d convinced a member of the Shimada clan to agree to be a part of it.

 

Her head throbbed and swirled. Some of it was wild pride like she’d never felt before, ten times the offer to join Overwatch, a hundred times her first papers being published and praised for their potential to save lives, a million times getting accepted into the world’s top medical school. She could run a marathon. No - she  _ had _ run a marathon.

 

And yet, her stomach twisted and her brain chewed itself. She couldn’t place why - or,  more concerningly, didn’t want to. Angela had always been fairly good at managing her emotions, but now she had the distinct, terrifying sensation of hiding something from herself.

 

“Doctor Ziegler,” Genji said hoarsely, bringing Angela back to the physical world. She realized she was shaking.

 

“Yes,” she said, trying to right herself.

 

“Leave.”

 

_ Leave _ . She couldn’t imagine moving from this chair. 

 

Angela mumbled something so quietly that she didn’t hear it.

 

“What?” Genji asked. His voice was flat.

 

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, louder. “I’m sorry about that.”

 

She lifted her head from her hands and looked to her patient and the monitors around him. His pulse was stabilizing and blood pressure dropping. He was fuming.

 

“I do not care. Leave.”

 

“I promise this is going to be beneficial,” she tried to assure him.

 

“Beneficial to who? Overwatch? You?”

 

“Beneficial to  _ you _ ,” Angela said, leaning forward. And after a short pause, almost pleadingly,  “Beneficial to  _ everyone _ .”

 

Genji glared at the ground silently. 

 

“Mr. Shimada, I won’t let anything bad happen to you. I’m your doctor, not your enemy,” she said. “I need you to trust me.”

No response.

 

Angela stood up slowly. She flipped open her journal and recorded Genji’s vitals, doing her best to recall their peaks during the confrontation. 

 

Shutting the book again, Angela turned towards the door. “I hope,” she said carefully, “that we can work to some kind of agreement.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! you can follow me on tumblr at plaant.tumblr.com


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what's this? posting on time? nonsense!

 

“...I apologize for my outburst.”

 

Angela nearly dropped the IV bag. She glanced over to her patient: he was hanging a few feet from her, dark eyes downcast.

 

Genji hadn’t spoken to her in days. It had been frustrating at first, as wringing information out of him was one of Angela’s pastimes, but after several failed emotional check-ups it had become downright concerning. His mood still showed the same patterns, anxiety highest at night, but he wouldn’t say a word to her. His sleeping had suffered, as had hers.

 

Angela directed her attention back to the medicines. “It was understandable. I...should have been more straightforward with you.”

 

Genji shook his head but offered no elaboration. There were dark circles under his eyes. Angela reflected on her notes from the past several days; he’d gotten a total of three hours of sleep since the confrontation with her superiors.

 

“You haven’t been sleeping,” she commented.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Is there a particular reason?” Angela asked half-heartedly. The question was routine and always produced the same responses - just can’t, don’t know.

 

He hesitated. “I have nightmares.”

 

Angela looked up from her notebook, surprised. He’d admitted to it.

She gripped her fountain pen. “What kind of nightmares?”

 

“Bad ones.”

 

She stifled a laugh. “I think that goes without saying, if they keep you from sleeping. What’s in the nightmares?”

 

Genji twitched, taking to one of his nervous tics: rubbing the stump of his right shoulder. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

 

“Can you try?” she asked. “If you can’t in English, try in Japanese? I have translation software.”

 

He seemed almost embarrassed. “No, language is not the problem.” He paused, brow furrowing. “I do not know how to describe it. It feels...cold. Dark.”

 

Angela scribbled it down. “Should I make it warmer at night? You haven’t complained of the temperature before.”

 

“The temperature is fine. I am not actually cold. The dreams  _ feel _ cold, even though my body,” even the word sounded melancholic, “is comfortable.”

 

“Strange,” Angela muttered, flipping back through pages upon pages of records. “I’ll look into it, I suppose. Is there anything else you can tell me about the dreams?”

 

“Flashbacks,” he said, almost without thinking.

 

“To the incident?”

 

“...Yes.”

 

“What can you tell me about that?” she asked.

 

“I...don’t want to talk about it right now,” he said.

 

Angela nodded. “I understand. Again, please do not hesitate to contact me with anything. I’m here to help you.” She was a broken record at this point, but the words felt right to say.

 

Angela circled around him, inspecting him carefully: he was regaining some amount of muscle mass from simple stretches and exercises, but remained visibly unfit. Partly it was his skin, which was uncomfortably pale.

 

“We need to get you out of this room at some point,” she said. “The window is not giving you enough sun.”

 

Genji nodded in agreement as she straightened his tubing.

 

Angela stepped back, looking him over once more, hanging sadly in his harness. She cleared her throat and pulled up her planner on a holographic screen.

 

“Your next surgery,” she began, “will occur fourteen days from now. This will be most complicated so far - perhaps the most complicated overall.”

 

Genji nodded again.

 

Angela continued, opening up a diagram of his body. “We will be repairing your torso and replacing many of your internal organs. Your injury left you with no stomach, intestines, spleen, liver, testes, kidneys, bladder…” Her list trailed off as she decided neither of them were in need of an anatomy lesson. “We do not plan on replacing all of these individually. In fact, we will only be fully replacing your right lung. Instead, we’ll be replacing the systems with machines to simulate their functions - essentially, more compact versions of what is currently attached to you.” 

 

She gestured to the vast array of machines hooked into Genji. 

 

He looked at them forlornly. “So I will still be on life support.”

 

“Well, yes, I suppose you could think of it that way,” Angela said uncomfortably, speeding to her next point. “We also need to begin the bases of your cybernetic limbs, though that duty mostly goes to our engineers.”

 

Genji stared at her blankly. 

 

“Now, this…” Angela referred briefly to her notes and the diagram she had pulled up. She closed it, sighing. “This will be very unpleasant for you. It will mean reopening many of your more grievous wounds.”

 

She turned away from her patient and began to pace. “Then of course there is the risk of rejection. Biomechanical organs have not been used to this extent before, and any transplant risks an autoimmune response, though your autoimmune system…” She paused, shaking her head. “Regardless, it will be very dangerous.”

 

“I suppose I agreed to that,” Genji said tersely.

 

“But even if the surgery goes flawlessly, you…” Angela winced in anticipation. “I am going to begin weaning you off of your pain medications. Starting with the Caduceus field, as I have not yet done studies on its long term effects. I shouldn’t have let you stay on it for this long. From there we will decrease morphine. My goal is to have you off pain medication by the new year.”

 

“I see,” Genji said. “What will this...feel like?”

 

“Well, to be forward with you, awful,” Angela said honestly, closing the diagram. “Withdrawal symptoms for morphine range from irritability to flu symptoms, and then the pain on top of that…” She looked at him sadly. “You will likely begin to experience phantom pains as well. It will be...very unpleasant. I’ll help you as best I can, but there is only so much I can do.”

 

He gazed back. There were gears turning in his head. 

 

“I understand,” he said eventually.

 

“It will be very important for you to  _ talk _ to me throughout this period, regarding both your physical and mental state.”

 

“I understand,” Genji said.

 

Angela flipped restlessly through her journal. “We cannot keep you on pain medications forever.”

 

“I understand,” he repeated.

 

“Not only does that risk addiction - well, you are likely already addicted, but further addiction and resulting tolerance - it can severely damage your already frail body. The timing is unfortunate, but - “

 

“ _ I understand,” _ he repeated again.

 

Angela stopped. She turned, locking eyes with him. He stared back.

 

Angela sighed, pulling up her chair and sitting gracefully. “Yes. Anyway. Overwatch.”

 

“Why me?” he asked. The tin in his voice seemed stretched thin.

 

The question hit Angela out of nowhere. Why him indeed? What reason did she have for going to all this trouble for a criminal? She’d taken care of Jesse on orders, not of her own volition; she certainly hadn’t kept an entire journal of notes on his condition. Angela hadn’t even been aware of Genji’s status at the time, nor his personality, nor his appearance…

 

“I don’t know,” she said finally. “It was coincidence.”

 

“Being recruited into Overwatch was a coincidence?”

 

Angela blinked. “Oh. No, no, you were recruited to Overwatch because we believe you could be a valuable member of our group.” Despite being the truth, the words curdled on her tongue.

 

“So I am to be a tool?” he asked.

 

Angela cleared her throat. “Not a tool. An asset. A participant.”

 

“Commander Morrison does not trust me.”

 

“That is true,” Angela conceded. “He does not. Though he doesn’t trust much of anyone. Personally, I am willing to trust you, as you have done nothing to prove yourself untrustworthy.”

 

“Hm.”

 

“Do you trust us?” Angela asked impulsively.

 

Genji glanced at her quizzically.

 

She corrected herself quickly. “You don’t have to answer that.”

 

To her surprise, he answered - flatly, but answered nonetheless: “I do not know.”

 

Angela nodded. “Understandable.”

 

“On the one hand,” he continued as Angela listened intently, “You have treated me well and been kinder than I would expect of my family’s enemies. Even through my stubbornness.”

 

_ Stubbornness _ was definitely one word for it.

 

“On the other, you hid your intention of forcing me into your ranks and have not given me a straight answer as to why you rescued me in the first place.”

 

“Yes,” Angela said, leaning forward in her chair. “I apologize for my withholding of information. You must understand, though, that I was under orders to keep you in the dark.”

 

“That does not make me trust you more.”

 

She nodded. “Of course. Regardless, I appreciate your honesty with me, and I will do my best to be honest going forward.”

 

Genji stared at her skeptically, but seemed to accept it for the time being.

 

Angela twiddled her thumbs, in want of her crocheting hooks. “To start with,” she began, “I will be honest and tell you that your abdominal surgery has me rather nervous.” She smiled weakly. “Ah, where’s my bedside manner? A doctor should never tell that to her patient.”

 

Genji, for once, spoke without a hint of skepticism: “I appreciate the honesty.”

 

\------

 

When Angela wasn’t actively caring for patients or sleeping, she was in her room with the desk lamp on and journal open.

 

The coming surgery had her nervous. More than nervous. Scared.

 

Scared enough to flip back through her journal. Not all the way back, not to the loose-leaf papers haphazardly folded and crammed into the first few pages. Those were papers she never wanted to see again in her life. Too much blood on those pages.

 

This surgery would be the blind leading the blind. No blueprint, no protocol - Angela was winging this one. No trial run. No room for mistakes.

 

And this time she didn’t have that same fervor as the night she found him, because now she was working on a person, not a corpse.

 

She spent every spare moment running through measurements and outlines in her head to the point where she saw them in her (extremely fleeting) sleep.

 

It was absolutely horrible. Even Genji noticed her distress. He was polite enough - or perhaps ambivalent enough - not to say anything, but Angela saw him watching her through his own dulled eyes. Watching her move through the motions while speaking less and trembling more.

 

His vitals betrayed what his mouth did not. The low fever started three days after decreasing his morphine intake. Muscle spasms. Though his mask obscured it, a clenched jaw.

 

There was no reason to ask if he was okay. They both knew he wasn’t. 

 

The night before this surgery - the abdominal surgery, as Angela called it - Angela did not sleep at all. She’d taken her sleeping pills, paced around the compound, (briefly) talked to Genji, crocheted a fifteenth scarf, read her notes, re-read her notes, written another copy of her notes, checked Genji’s vitals, balanced equations, read her medical textbook, and showered twice.

 

Her assistant was a biomechanical engineer who, through a haze of adrenaline and sleep deprivation, she hardly remembered interacting with. Two days later, all Angela could recall about the procedure was returning Genji to his soaking bath, clipping apart her careful bandages and frantic stitches, blood, tubes, blood, and heartbeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! you can follow me on tumblr at plaant.tumblr.com


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is a bit late.

 

Angela slept for sixteen hours straight after the surgery was completed and she had confirmed Genji’s condition was stable. She would have slept longer, too, if it weren’t for her commander’s message.

 

Commander Reyes was something of a cryptid to Angela. She saw him periodically, usually with Morrison, the two either bickering or bantering, depending on the day. He and Morrison were a package deal. She’d spoken to him on very few occasions, even fewer one-on-one. 

 

So hearing her comm crackle to life at six in the morning was something of a surprise. It was only Reyes on the other end, voice smooth and cool in contrast to his partner’s.

 

“Doctor Ziegler, are you awake?” he asked.

 

Angela bolted upright and grabbed the small listening device, brushing hair out of her face. “Yes, sir, I’m awake. What is it?”

 

There was a brief pause on the other end. “We need to speak. In person.”

 

Angela rubbed her temples. “Understood. Where and when, sir?”

 

“Meet me near the med bay, ASAP.”

 

“Understood.”

 

The comm clicked off. Angela got dressed in a haze, cycling through possibilities in her head. None of the possibilities had positive implications.

 

Nonetheless, she rushed through the winding halls of the base, journal clutched in hand, as if someone might steal it, as if she needed it with her.

 

She almost didn’t see Reyes. He blended in with the shadows concerningly well, black knit cap and dark fatigues.

 

Angela stopped in front of him. “You wanted to see me, sir?” 

 

He looked her over, crossed his arms, pondering. “Yes. Good morning.”

 

Angela squinted in confusion. “Good morning, Commander.”

 

Reyes chuckled quietly. Not maliciously - almost paternally. Which was worse - Morrison’s rigid no-nonsense attitude, or Reyes’ bizarre ambivalence?

 

“How’s the kid?” Reyes asked.

 

“Genji?” she clarified, half to herself. “He’s in a rather delicate state right now. I performed a fairly intensive procedure on him yesterday. It will be several days before he — ”

 

“Right,” he cut her off with a hand gesture. “Well, about him.”

 

“What about him?” Angela asked hesitantly.

 

He rubbed his stubbled chin thoughtfully. “Jack and I decided what the next step is. Jack is too chicken-shit to tell you himself, so he sent me.”

 

There was no proper response to that, so Angela simply nodded.

 

“Anyway. The kid’s pretty volatile. Bit of a wild card. And, you know this, but what you’re doing to him isn’t entirely legal.”

 

Angela stood stock-still, hating the accusation.

 

“So the kid — Genji — he’s going to be under me. For now, anyway. He’s still your patient, of course, but he’s not Overwatch.”

 

She blinked slowly.

 

“He’s Blackwatch. Like Jesse. That probably doesn’t actually change much for you. I’ll just be around here more frequently, and I’ll need permission to talk freely with him.”   
  
Angela almost gave a plain “no” — Genji didn’t need any more stress than he was already under — but decided on a more reasonable agreement: “I grant you access to him, but...I insist I remain in the room while you speak to him.”   
  
Reyes shrugged. “Fair enough. You’re his doctor, after all.”   
  
She nodded, thankful of his understanding.   
  
Reyes eyed her for a few moments, thinking over something. “You know, despite what Jack says, he’s proud of you for this.”   
  
“Proud of me?” Angela repeated.   
  
“Yeah. He’s pissed about the funding, and as always he’s too damned concerned about his precious authority, but he’s real impressed. Gave you a nickname and everything.”   
  
Angela furrowed her eyebrows. “What’s that?”   
  
“Mercy.”   
  
\--   
  
Genji returned to full consciousness three days after the surgery. Tubes protruded from him in strange places, connecting flesh to metal and distributing vital liquids within him. His prosthetic torso was a stark contrast to his remaining flesh — it picked up exactly where the skin had left off, a slate grey carbon fiber form composed of artificial muscles and state-of-the-art materials. It closely resembled what omnics were equipped with, spare one key difference: it was filled with an array of machinery more akin to an ICU than a mechanic shop. Many of the devices had been designed by Angela herself — synthetic blood to transport oxygen collected by his artificial lung, and an all-in-one blood filtration system. His digestive system was cobbled together from silicon and lab-grown organs in a fashion that would make Frankenstein proud.

  
Angela was thankful the patchwork of innards was out of view. 

  
Genji remained hooked up to monitors, but his room cleared out substantially.  Angela still visited him frequently. His color, previously sallow, was improving. But so many other things were not.   
  
With his painkiller doses now low enough that they didn’t cover his pain, he was often somewhat vacant — staring blankly and sweating and shaking. He showed constant signs of exhaustion, but he was sleeping less than ever.    
  
“On a scale of one to ten, how is your pain?” Angela asked at one point, gazing at her open journal rather than her patient.   
  
It took several minutes of false starts before he actually managed to speak, his metallic voice cracking from effort. “Ten. Worse.”   
  
Angela stared at her chart of 10s, spanning back a week. “No improvement, then.”   
  
He nodded tensely.    
  
“I’m sorry,” Angela said.   
  
“Can you not give me something?” Genji asked. “Anything. Anything to make the pain better.”   
  
“No, we need to continue lowering your dosage — ”   
  
“I feel like I’m being ripped in half,” Genji cut her off. “It hurts. It hurts everywhere.”

 

Angela looked up at him. He was trembling. “I’m sorry, Genji, there is very little I can do.”

 

“I can feel pain in the missing parts of my body.” His pulse spiked. 

 

Angela closed her journal and moved closer to him. “You’re experiencing phantom pains — this is completely normal,” she said gently. “The pain will pass.”

 

“I can  _ feel  _ my  _ arm _ ,” he croaked.

 

“Try to calm down. Breathe.” 

 

His dark eyes widened, glinting with something visceral. “My organs are on fire. They’re  _ burning _ .”

 

Angela attempted to massage his remaining shoulder; her touch was met with a scream.

 

“Don’t touch me!” he shouted. Tears welled in the corners of his eyes. “ _ Anija! _ ”

 

Angela jerked backwards. That word.  _ Anija _ . She remembered it vaguely — Genji had mentioned it before. She tried to dig through her mind for the meaning. Their Japanese lessons had been so brief. What had they even gone over? Greetings? Body parts? Family? Family.  _ Family _ .

 

She’d asked him about his family. He’d listed them after some urging, listed them in Japanese. Father, mother, grandmother, grandfather, sibling. Different words for different siblings. Japanese was very specific in regards to family. Different words for older siblings, younger, female, male, yours, someone else’s. What was it? Anija. Anija.  _ Anija _ — 

 

_ Older brother _ . 

———   
  


Angela spent any extra scraps of time scouring classified files and news articles, looking for as much information as she could on Genji’s family. 

 

Most of the information was irrelevant or boring — the clan ran as any other organized crime ring, with offenses ranging from money laundering to human trafficking, and a reputation that existed at some bizarre crossroad of reverence and repugnance. Angela skimmed an article regarding their domination of the town of Hanamura, how they’d built the tiny community up from nothing before breaking it back down and draining it of all it was worth with gang violence and lucrative business deals.

 

Details on the members of the family were frustratingly hard to find; she was an hour deep in reports the first time she saw mention of the father’s name: Sojiro. Next to the name was a candid shot of an aging Japanese man, looking as hardened and unsuspecting as any dedicated businessman. With him in the photo, unidentified, was who Angela presumed to be his wife — a quiet woman dressed in kimono.

 

Farther down the page were photos of two younger men. One had his hair up and mouth in a tight, serious line. Beneath the photo, he was labeled as  _ Hanzo _ .

 

_ Hanzo _ . Angela wrote the name down in her journal. 

 

She squinted, examining Genji’s photo. Unlike his brother, he was grinning slightly. His hair was short and dyed a tacky green. He looked...content. Whole. 

 

Nausea passed over Angela. Memories of the rescue began flooding back — there was blood, hot and running, pooling on the ground around a mass of flesh that writhed and spasmed like Angela had never seen before. Somewhere there was screaming; piercing, basal, guttural. The moon was beautiful. Angela was holding her Caduceus staff, standing over the newly discovered victim, stomach twisting and mouth dry and hands….still. Perfectly, completely still.

 

Angela came out of the episode with a dry heave; cold sweat had collected along her brow. She pushed away from the work station, swaying slightly.

 

She exited the room quietly and began walking. Her focus remained on the names she had just learned — Sojiro and Hanzo — and the clicking of her heels on tile. It was late. The halls were empty; Angela was thankful for the privacy. For awhile, she let herself drift.

 

“Angela?” Captain Amari’s voice brought Angela to a halt. 

 

Angela blinked the absent stare out of her eyes. “Good evening, Captain Amari.”

 

Her superior’s face was wrinkled with concern. “What are you doing up at this hour?”

 

Angela had barely registered that she had wandered into the medical wing. She held her notebook tightly. “I was planning on checking on my patient.”

 

“Genji?” Amari asked.

 

Angela nodded. “Yes.”

 

“You visit him often,” the captain said, eyebrows raised.

 

“Well, yes. I am his doctor — I care about him.” She added: “He is my responsibility.”

 

Captain Amari crossed her arms. “The boy is your  _ patient _ , not your son.”

 

Angela recoiled. “Excuse me?”

 

“You have other patients to care for.” She paused. “The Shimada boy has agreed to our cause. You don’t need to dedicate so much time to him anymore.”

 

“I tend to him as I see fit,” Angela insisted.

 

“You lose  _ sleep _ over him,” she countered. “You forget I was a doctor. I know how harmful close patient-doctor relationships can be. Especially...”

 

Angela stared Amari down as she searched for words.

 

“Especially when the future of the patient is so uncertain.” Amari sounded uncharacteristically timid. “I know you care for him. But he could die from medical complications, or in combat, or in recovery, or from personal problems. Jack may still decide to shut the project down, or have him expelled. Dedicating so much of your time to him is going to end badly.”

 

“I do not recall asking for your input, Captain,” Angela said sharply.

 

The older woman narrowed her eyes, returning to her usual confidence. “Now you don’t need to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! you can follow me on tumblr at plaant.tumblr.com


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